


The Reality Of Everything

by EffingEden



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: sherlockbbc_fic, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/EffingEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is normal. Jim decides 'normal' doesn't suit him. Not one bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reality Of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sherlock kink meme promt, "My personal headcanon is that Sebastian is just a normal guy.......who Jim kidnapped and forced to kill people."
> 
> The title is a Virginia Woolf quote, the complete quote being "I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists; the reality of everything."
> 
> Jim's current ring tone is 'I Can't Decide' by Scissor Sisters

You have three missed calls, one new text.

 

From; Augusta  
At; Today, 20:48

We have to talk. Pick up your fucking phone.

 

You have two missed calls, one new text.

 

From; Augusta  
At; Today, 21:17

Seriously, Sebastian. Please. It’s an emergency.

 

To; Augusta  
At; Today, 21:20

What is it? I’m busy.

 

From; Augusta  
At; Today, 21:23

No. You’re getting drunk. Dad’s dying.

 

From; Augusta  
At;  Today, 21:27

Did you get my last? I said Dad’s had a heart attack. He’s asking for you.

 

From; Augusta  
At; Today, 21:32

You’re a monster, Sebastian. A heartless, disgusting monster.

 

Sebastian Moran flicked his phone shut and slid it into his pocket. Augusta was so dramatic... but she was right. He was a monster. One of his father’s making. If the old man really was shuffling off the mortal coil, he could spare a few hours to say bon voyage to the decrepit git. There might even be a stumbling, awkward apology... God knew this was the time for one.

 

He downed his vodka and opened his phone again.

 

To; Augusta  
At; Today, 21:35

I’m coming.

 

He couldn’t drive, he’s had too much, but he had enough in his wallet for a cab. He stood, grimaced, and started looking for his shoes.

 

 

 

 

There was not a taxi to be found nearby – not surprising, given how far out from the city centre he lived. He sighed, his breath coming in a plume and started towards the main road. It was just his luck that the stand was empty. “Fuck,” he hissed. Should he wait, or try his luck at the one further on?

 

He decided to wait. Five minutes, then ten. Still no sign of one. He lit a cigarette. There must be rich pickings on the street. He stamped his numb feet and tried to keep warm. A minute later, another man turned up. Short, wearing a rather prim suit. Dark haired, dark eyes, with a harmless looking face and an annoyed air that seemed to hum when he noticed there wasn’t a taxi.

 

Those dark eyes turned onto him, and Sebastian felt like he was being stripped and measured. He had a suspicion the bloke was a banker. He wondered if he should offer some small talk as they waited, but he really wasn’t in the mood. He looked away from the compact man, but knew the other hadn’t stopped staring at him. It was unnerving.

 

He was probably worried that Sebastian would try to mug him or something. He was quite imposing in an unintentional sort of way. Tall and well built, with a scar that cut its mark from cheek bone, up into his hairline. Shrapnel. His luck had been all used up that day – half an inch to the left and the bit of metal would have buried itself in his eye – or his brain.

 

The new silence that had come with the stranger was shattered by a voice. For a moment, Sebastian thought it was the man striking up conversation in a disturbingly sing-song manner, but a beat later, tinny music started up.

 

_It’s not easy having yourself a good time  
Greasing up those bets and betters  
Watching out they don’t four letter_

 

The small man clucked his tongue and pulled out a phone, sleek and stylish. His eyes lingered a moment on the number on the screen, then flicked up to Sebastian who realised he’d been watching. He offered a flash of a wry smile and a small shrug before looking back to the road.   

 

The man answered the call, his voice mid-tone with a rather appealing curve of accent in it. “If I want to know how something is going, sweetie, I’d call you. Not the other way around.” There was such venom in that voice. “Well tell him to get to Prague and collect it then!” There was a pause, then, “Oh yes, please tell me more, hearing you whine is so fascinating. Stop being such a baby, put a plaster on and rest on the plane! Honestly, the fuss you’re making. You were begging for this not twenty-four hours ago. ”

 

He moved around as he spoke, turning a circle and flexing his fingers – this Sebastian saw out the corner of his eye. His gaze was drawn to the man, the energy about him almost hypnotising. He almost missed it when a cab drew up.

 

Sebastian dropped his cigarette then started towards the car, his gait stumbling a little from the cold and alcohol – but he jumped as the small man’s bored voice turned harsh and vicious. “That’s mine!” came the shout, and a moment later the man bounded up, intending to get into the taxi first.

 

Any other night, Sebastian would have let him. But tonight, he was half drunk, freezing cold, and desperately needing to see his father before he passed. The next cab might not come for another quarter of an hour. Sebastian wasn’t in the mood to be patient.

 

He grabbed the banker’s arm, probably harder than he intended. “I need this one, mate,” he said – or was going to say. He only got halfway through when a sudden punch caught him on the kidney, right over another shrapnel wound. “Don’t touch the Prada,” the small man chirruped, suddenly camp. Pain blazed through him, and Sebastian lashed out automatically, landing a blow on the man’s jaw. The phone clattered to the floor, the voice on the other side asking alarmed questions. The taxi pulled away, vanishing around the corner. “Fuck!” Sebastian snarled.

 

“If you broke one of my teeth I’ll stub that cigarette out on your eyeball,“ came the burning cold threat from the suited little wanker as he touched his blooming bruise tenderly.

 

“Fuck you, you spoilt little idiot,” Sebastian hissed back, the unusual threat sending a chill down his spine and making his anger crackle like lightning. “I needed that one!”

 

Somewhere in Sebastian’s retort a change had come over the stranger. His body had tensed and when he lifted his eyes, they were like twin black holes, hateful and cruel. “Ooooh, now you’ve done it,” he said in an oddly soft voice. “Daddy’s angry with you.”

 

Sebastian looked the man up and down, snorted, and limped away, heading for the other taxi rank half a mile down the road. 


End file.
